


Two People Shorten The Road

by untouchable



Category: This Way Up (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jane Eyre References, brief talk of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchable/pseuds/untouchable
Summary: The cake misunderstanding goes a little differently.
Relationships: Aine/Richard, Richard/Aine
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	Two People Shorten The Road

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everybody who left lovely comments on my last Aine/Richard fic. With everything that's been going on and with being home from college, I have a lot less schoolwork to do and more time on my hands to write, so I whipped this up. I hope this fic takes your mind off things for a little while.
> 
> (The title is an old Irish saying. Basically means that life/journeys are better with company.)

Áine’s never baked a birthday cake for anyone before. Never for a boyfriend or a friend; she’s never held on to either one of those long enough. And not for Shona either, or Mam, or Da, before he died. But it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Sure, she’d gone to a baking shop and bought some special tool to sift sugar, spent thirty minutes searching the internet for a recipe that Richard would like, and texted Etienne to see if his dad has any allergies—apparently, Richard is allergic to shellfish. This isn’t relevant to her current task, but Áine catalogs this information in the place where she stores the rest of the things she knows about him. 

Because, yeah. She pays attention. To Richard, anyway.

Still. It’s not like it _means_ anything. 

Except that Bradley seems to think it does and—

Fuck. 

***

 _Fuck_ , Áine thinks once more when she enters the house and Etienne’s trying to tell her something about a woman and then there she is, this _woman_ , with dark curls and a sweet smile, touching Richard’s arm—“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!”—as if she knows him, as if they know each other, as if they’re—

The room tilts.

Áine makes up some excuse and clumsily hands the homemade cake over and bolts. She halts on the front steps, bracing herself on the brick wall as she squeezes her eyes shut. God that was embarrassing. And the woman had even gotten her TV reference, so it’s not like Áine can even hate her that much. Or at all, since Áine has no rightful claim over Richard in the first place. She’s the tutor, she’s just doing a job. She’d thought...but maybe she’s made up this whole _thing_ between her and him, had taken some flirting and spun it into much, much more. Áine truly doesn’t know. She can’t really trust herself these days.

Behind her, the front door opens and Richard nearly runs right into her on his way out. Him and his stupid sweater and stupid warm brown eyes. Has he come out to chastise her for loitering on his steps? For interrupting his date? Jesus, she needs to get the hell out of here. 

She opens her mouth to say something, some silly excuse about why she’s still here, why she came in the first place, but all of it just turns to ash on her tongue. For once, she’s run out of things to say. 

Richard clears his throat. “That was...not what you think.”

“You really don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t have to come out here and—”

“I do, actually. The woman inside, she’s—”

“Your crazy wife that you’ve been keeping in the attic?”

Richard blinks. Then the corner of his mouth curves up into a smile. “Was that a _Jane Eyre_ reference? I thought you only read vibes, Áine.”

She shrugs cheekily. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Like turning up at my house with a birthday cake, for instance.”

“Exactly. I guess that makes _me_ the madwoman and not your wife.”

Saying it out loud, even joking, cuts her deeply. Because who wants to go out with a bloody madwoman? The madwoman gets locked up, that’s how the story goes. At least, she thinks it does—Áine’s never actually read _Jane Eyre_ , or many books in general that don’t have pictures. But she does know this: the madwoman doesn’t come out on top. She doesn’t get the guy. She dies, right, in the book? 

Áine tried that once. Didn’t take. 

Feeling shame crawl up her throat, Áine turns, readies herself to go down the steps and leave, when Richard catches her arm and keeps her where she is. She’s got her coat on, there are several layers of clothing between then, but imagines she can feel the heat of his skin. 

“She’s not my wife. She’s not _my_ anything. She’s a social worker, come to check on Etienne.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. She glances back at him, cheeks growing pink. “That’s... _oh_.”

Richard lets go of her sleeve, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He should probably go back inside, do whatever it is people do when social workers come to visit, but he seems content to just stare at her expectantly. It’s up to her what comes next, she realizes. This has been on her terms all this time, which is, frankly, too much power that he’s given her. It’s terrifying. _He’s_ terrifying. 

Damn him for respecting her. 

“Can I come back later?” Áine asks. 

She’s fidgeting with her scarf, pulling at a loose thread, but then Richard’s smiling at her and she releases the breath she’d been holding.

“I’d like that. Around dinner-time?”

Áine pretends to think, mock-rubbing her chin. “I suppose I can fit you into my busy schedule.”

But Richard seems to have warmed up to her brand of theatrics, because instead of rolling his eyes and shutting the door in her face like he’d done when she’d showed up late at night weeks ago with _Harry Potter_ under her arm, the look on his face is a world away from how somber and serious he was when they met. He looks...softer, somehow. It does something to her, makes her think that, maybe, she’s not the only one who’s had protective walls up.

He nods, going along with her antics and faking a solemn expression. “Much appreciated.”

She has to look away to hide the grin on her face. “You should probably get back…” she says, gesturing to the door behind him.

Richard looks over his shoulder as if he’s forgotten. “Right. Right, of course, I should—”

“But I’ll see you later?

“Yes,” he agrees. More quietly, almost to himself, he murmurs, “Later.”

As they part ways with a plan for dinner, Áine smiles to herself and thinks, _Take that Charlotte_ _Brontë_.

***

_Months later..._

**REVIEWS FOR CHOCOLATE CAKE RECIPE ON WAKE2BAKE.COM**

POSTED BY ÁINE: this recipe got me a bf, so i cant complain much. tho, for honestys sake, the cake did taste like shite. too moist. ha, thats what she said. okay, sorry. but seriously. two stars. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr (@dailyspike) and send me fic requests! Thanks for reading. x


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